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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288373">Murmurs in D Minor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonandwine/pseuds/poisonandwine'>poisonandwine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Castlevania (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bards, Belmont clan - Freeform, Canon: Castlevania (Cartoon 2017), Canon: Castlevania (Video Games), Castlevania References, Classical Music, Don't copy to another site, Don't repost, Drabble, Fantasy, Ficlet, Inspired by Castlevania, No Spoilers, One Shot, Taverns, Trevor Belmont - Freeform, Уточнять у автора</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:40:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonandwine/pseuds/poisonandwine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A bard by the name of Klaudius Pelleret travels to a crowded tavern to perform his latest tale of the Belmont clan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Murmurs in D Minor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was going through some old ficlet ideas that I had, and I wanted to try out writing this short one. I haven't actually caught up on the show, otherwise I'd probably have considered doing something more in-depth. This just felt fun. Wrote it all in one go, did a quick edit, and now it's here. Was fun to not agonize over something. </p><p>When thinking of the bard's song, I was heavily inspired by Sarabande in D minor by Handel. If you haven't heard it, it's beautiful, but especially on a lute. (Also, sorry if you're seeing this twice. For some reason AO3 marked this as "anonymous" originally rather than my account?)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwood and pine walls bowed at the dense aroma of gins distilled at high concentrations. The oil-slicked lanterns lining the walls flickered between low and high energies as conversations rose and fell in the tavern. It was a crowded night with laborers drowning their woes, women serving and crowing at the most willing patrons, and one tavern owner perched behind the lacquered, oak bar serving drinks and food as the orders came. Extra hands rushed across the floor offering refills, water, and fresh-baked bread. </p><p>A man, who hardly had the composure to stay upright in his chair, let his heavy stein fall onto the round table in front of him with a hard <em> thud </em>. The echoing rumble reverberated across the table to his sobering friend who sat upright and blankly stared at the disgusting slop the man had become. </p><p>“Aye, git the fuck up, lad, yer lookin’ grim!” he shouted over the noise. </p><p>“I’ll git up when I’m good ‘n’ ready!” the drunk shouted back. </p><p>“Git good and ready now, that bloody bard is back.” </p><p>The drunk’s head swiveled to the back of the tavern—an entrance made of a cheap wooden door with buckling brass hinges. The door was still swinging shut when the bard was spotted inside. He surveyed the room with a look of pure amusement. </p><p>Unlike the bards who travelled the hills of Wallachia, this bard didn’t maintain a dazzling wardrobe of fine linen or color. Instead, Klaudius Pelleret found comfort in muted fabrics where he could blend into a crowd before throwing his lute around his shoulder and stunning everyone into giving their last coin. </p><p>“Klaud, eh?” the drunkard scoffed. </p><p>“What’ll it be this time, y’think?” his friend asked, leaning forward to brace himself to stand up. </p><p>“Another diddy about Dracula, prolly. He loves that one.” </p><p>“Let’s not stick ‘round to find out, lad.” </p><p>Before the two could stand completely upright—one due to the help of the other—the room parted and made way for Klaudius, whose lute was already poised in the crook of his arm. The wide, round pale wood of the body took up more circumference than Klaudius’ waist, and the strings looked brand new. Sheep and metal woven into the frets. </p><p>His blond hair was pushed back from his face into a peculiar coif that always fell in front of his eyes as the song went on. When his hair fell, it framed his sharp jaw and pointed nose in such a way that made him appear deceivingly strong. He walked about a room with a confident saunter, placing a free hand on every woman’s shoulder as he did so—often in spite of their husbands. </p><p>Enthused patrons turned their full attention to Klaudius as he hopped onto the bar—much to the dismay of the tavern owner—and crossed his legs. The lute rested on his knee, and his fingers found their positions. He strummed a slow D minor and grinned with all his teeth at the crowd. </p><p>“Perhaps I shall tell you a tale you might have yet heard,” he said with acute articulation. "Or perhaps you only know its parts..."</p><p>The pair on the other side of the tavern attempted to sneak away from the growing interest in the bard, but their path was blocked by several men who had followed the bard inside. The drunkard leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, suddenly determined to nap through the music. His friend <em> tsked </em> and folded his arms, looking cross at the showman up front. </p><p>Klaudius played the chords fluidly, hardly looking to the lute for confirmation of his hand placement: D, A, D minor, G, B, E, and again. All tones that indicated a dark and dreary tale. The crowd's eyes widened in amazement and anticipation of the unexpected entertainment. When the bard sang, his trained baritone fluidly climbed the scale of his silky melody.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Perhaps you know demons and monsters<br/></em>
    <em>Perhaps you know tales of woe<br/></em>
    <em>But have you ever known someone as monstrous<br/></em>
    <em>As a Belmont beau</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Their eyes are as dark as their killing souls<br/></em>
    <em>Black magic demons, the Belmonts are<br/></em>
    <em>Sworn by God to save us, but they’ll <br/></em>
    <em>Fill you with dread, tear you apart </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> You see, the Belmonts were once mighty<br/></em>
    <em>But word spread of this terrible clan<br/></em>
    <em>Hunting for fun, witches they were <br/></em>
    <em>They’d gladly shake the Devil’s hand </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>A woman gasped in the crowd and Klaudius winked at her—a bloom of pink appearing on her pale cheeks. His sharp, hazel eyes bore into the crowd as another D minor chord echoed off the walls. </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Perhaps you only know the Belmonts<br/></em>
    <em>Through legends and stories of old<br/></em>
    <em>Did you know one sits among us <br/></em>
    <em>A Belmont so daring and bold </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>A tall tale on the bard's part, as he hadn't seen Trevor Belmont in weeks, but he wanted to hear more gasps and moans, and that he did.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Keep your eyes peeled for the street<br/></em>
    <em>And cross if your blood runs cold<br/></em>
    <em>The disgraced Trevor still walks among men<br/></em>
    <em>Remember what you’ve been told</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The last line was but a whisper, with patrons leaning in. The room was quiet, and the drunkard in the back startled the nearest patrons who heard a sudden snore crank out of his nose. </p><p>“Alright, lad, git up,” his friend snapped, pulling him up gruffly and ushering him out the door before the drunk had time to find his step or open his eyes. </p><p>Klaudius smirked, recognizing them from a few prior run-ins where the more sobered companion dared to call him talentless. “Belmont sympathizer,” Klaudius shouted out to the crowd with a lilt. “What can you do about the ignorant?” </p><p>A few people chuckled as everyone else hurried to offer their money to the bard. He graciously opened his pouch to accept whatever would fit, feet crossed and swaying from over the edge of the bar.</p><p>One haggard and shaken man grabbed Klaudius’ wrist, and the bard grimaced at the sudden contact. </p><p>“I-is it true?” he stammered. “Is Trevor Belmont <em> here </em> <em>?”</em> </p><p>Klaudius offered a toothy grin to the man and jerked his wrist out of the man’s grasp. “My good man, rest assured if Belmont were here he’d likely spend his energy on more affluent ventures than what he might get from you and yours.” </p><p>Trevor Belmont sat at the bar quietly, his dark hair tangling by his chin as he enjoyed a pint of gin. His glassy eyes watched the liquid waver against the bard’s weight shifting from the other end of the bar. </p><p>Klaudius hopped down and secured his pouch and lute back over his shoulder. “Who wants to buy me a drink?!” </p><p>The patrons searched their pockets, but no one had more to give. Trevor turned in his seat at the bar and leaned against it with his elbows propped. “I can spare an extra pint for a talented man as yourself,” he said in a low, even voice. Klaudius turned around and for a moment thought the color might run out of skin. Trevor gestured to the tavern owner with a few extra coins and smirked at the bard. “You know any about Leon Belmont and his whip?”</p>
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